


Let Sleeping Tigers Lie

by leopoldstotch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sleeping Together, a docile murderer, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopoldstotch/pseuds/leopoldstotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep is a necessity Sebastian Moran is rarely granted, so when he does fall asleep, he's a wonder. Jim uses this fleeting chance to admire him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Sleeping Tigers Lie

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of scars and violence and past self-harm. 
> 
> This is mormor.

_**Sunlight beamed through the cracks of the curtains hanging on the large ornate window of their bedroom. Dust swirled through the air, forming galaxies of tiny granules suspended in the airflow.** _

Jim liked to watch Sebastian sleep. It was the closest thing the madman could muster to show some form of affection. He had watched his right hand man kill drug lords from 2 kilometers away, had seen him drive a KA-BAR through a man’s eyeball, pulled fingernails off with rusty pliers, all because Jim said so. Sebastian lived for violence, and yet here he slept, full of peace and without worry. 

_**Every now and then, a bird would chirp in the distance. He could hear a dog barking at street-level, commanding his master to take heed of a passing intruder.** _

The subtle variations in his face led Jim to lean in closer, his breath hot against day-old stubble. He stared intently at his chest move up and down with every inhale and exhale. 

Without thinking, Jim drew a hand near Sebastian’s chest, fingers drawn to trace the scars that patterned his skin. Raised purple lines were quite literally his battle scars; 

a job gone wrong here, 

_**knife fight in Belarus** _

a drunken bar fight there.

_**hitting on a very taken woman** _

A few of the disfigurations were put there by Jim himself. A JM nicked on his right hipbone, MINE crudely drawn between his clavicles, a perfect circle of teeth marks in his neck. 

_**Cars honked and children played. If he listened closely, he could hear true, pure happiness. It was almost sickening.** _

Jim wasn’t free of his own scars – none of his were the storybook of life like Sebastian’s was. A flesh-colored mark on his knee from when he took a tumble off the porch as a small child, a jagged scar on his shoulder given to him by a rogue plaything on school grounds, deep purple lines across his right wrist from when he thought Sebastian wasn’t coming home. 

Jim let his head lean against his marksman’s broad shoulders, taking in his scent. Sebastian smelled like chocolate and cigarettes - Jim would frequently bury his face in his neck while he was fucking him, just to get a better reach to smell him. It was his home.

He let his fingers dance across his stomach once more before recoiling and tucking his hand between himself and the taller man. With a sigh, he sunk deeper into the bed and closer to Sebastian, burying his small frame within his languid arms.

_**Doors slammed down the hall, as businessmen and women hurried outside. It was tempting to get up out of bed and get to business, but for now, watching Sebastian sleep was all he wanted.** _


End file.
